The Crooked Path
by GypsySilk
Summary: This is the "rest of the story" of the MASH we see on the show - new scenes that flesh out how Mary comes to care for Bash when Francis fills her heart. Or as one reviewer said "conversations you wish happened on Reign." (thanks Chrisrose!) Will eventually go AU. Told from Bash's POV.
1. Chapter 1: Regent

**Chapter 1: Regent**

Bash was summoned to the King's council room as Henry was finishing the final arrangements for his trip to Rome. At Bash's arrival, the king dismissed the others from the room so he could speak to his son alone.

"Things are going to change for you now, Bash," Henry said, somewhat unnecessarily in Bash's opinion. Of course things were going to change – had already changed, in fact. "I don't have time to teach you the things that you should know, the things Francis has spent a lifetime learning. I will just have to hope you've picked up on a few things from being around your brother and watching me."

"I will do my best, father," Bash said.

"It's not enough to do your best," Henry said. "If you are going to be the heir to the throne of France you will have to leave aside everything you have been. You will have to leave aside your wild ways and your impertinent attitude and your freedom. Are you really prepared for that?"

"I understand what is required of me." 

"I'm not sure you do," Henry said bluntly. "A crown is a heavy thing to wear. But you will know soon enough. I am making you Regent while I am gone. Francis has left the court, which is the best thing for all involved, I should think. But no one is to know the real reason why. In his absence it will not seem so far-fetched for me to leave all in the hands of my favored son – who _should_ be unquestionably loyal to me."

Henry's last statement was quite pointed, and Bash did not fail to miss the message. Bash was still Henry's bastard son for now, dependent on the favor of the king for his continued existence. If anything, Mary's plan to place Bash on the throne had temporarily made Bash even more at the mercy of the king. Without the king's support, Bash would be a treasonous usurper – never mind that none of it had been of his own design.

In such a situation, it served Bash's own interest as well as Henry's to keep quiet about the king's decision regarding Mary's proposal. Bash acknowledged this, saying, "Rumors are already swirling around court that you are planning to change the succession. I take it you do not want those rumors confirmed yet."

"Definitely not. The nobility can speculate all they like – Mary announced her plan in front of the whole court so I can hardly prevent them from gossiping. But until they know what will happen, they will not act. You brother will be said to be traveling ahead of me to Italy, where I will be meeting with my wife's relatives. In our absence, you will be Regent."

"And when Francis shows up in some other corner of France without you, what will be said?"

"That he was sent back and took a detour, deciding to take advantage of the opportunity for a little freedom. Very irresponsible of him, really. It will not help Francis's reputation as heir, though it may serve him well as the bastard son if all of this comes to pass," Henry replied. "Francis knows this already, and has agreed to play along." Henry looked sideways at Bash. "Your brother has been far more cooperative in this plan than I expected. It makes me question if part of him was secretly glad to be rid of the crown."

"As you say, a crown is a heavy thing to wear," Bash replied. "Perhaps Francis is simply glad of the chance to live without it weighing him down for once."

"I do not believe it is as simple as that. Nothing about this situation is simple. I do not understand Francis' motivations anymore than I understand yours or Mary's in this whole scheme," Henry said sharply. "But it doesn't seem to matter, as Mary has pulled the puppet strings and now we must dance, if France is to have Scotland and England."

There didn't seem to be any safe answer to that. So Bash simply said, "I hope your travels are safe father."

"And I hope you prove up to the task of Regent, Sebastian, contrary to all expectations of the nobility."

"And what are your expectations, father?" Bash challenged the king in response to his father's blunt assessment.

"That you will make many missteps. But I can only hope that with Mary at your side it will not be a disaster. Perhaps trial by fire will prove to be the method that makes the bastard become a king."

Bash immediately thought of the pagans burning on the castle lawn for heresy & treason, and his own pagan ties. King Henry had used an exceedingly poor choice of words. But perhaps King Henry had known exactly what he was saying. "I do not mean to fail father. I will do what is necessary."

"Good," Henry said. "Return to the throne room in one hour. I will make the announcement of your regency then. There will be much to be done, after that, so enjoy the last moments of your freedom until then, Bash." These last words of the king carried a tinge of sadness. Henry did love his son, and the king knew in his heart that Bash had never wanted this crown. It had made it easy for Henry to love this bastard son, because there was no question that the king's favor would give Bash exalted expectations such as those of Tomas of Portugal. Bash had been content with his lot in life. The twist of fate that brought them to this point baffled Henry. God most certainly was laughing at him.

After leaving his audience with the king, Bash wandered aimlessly, unconsciously directing his feet toward a balcony where he could gaze longingly at the countryside. The rolling hills and sprawling fields represented the freedom he was losing, and as Bash stared at them, he tried to come to terms with the sudden change of his fate.

In his mind's eye Bash compared the images of the far flung corners of France he had seen, the bars and brawls and fights and drinking and good times & uncertain life, with a certain lovely brunette who had taken up residence in his heart. And Bash thought of his little brother, the fair-haired golden son, Francis, who was both idealistic and arrogant, entitled and sheltered, but whom Bash loved all the same. A big brother was supposed to look out for his little brother, was supposed to choose his brother over all else.

And yet . . . how far did that loyalty go? Should Bash have sacrificed his own life for Francis's, refused to marry the queen of Bash's heart, forcing his father to put Bash on the chopping block, all so that Francis could continue to take for granted the love of an amazing woman like Mary? Would Francis really be able to protect Mary? Would Bash?

It was pointless to wonder, Bash decided. He had not asked for this crown, had not sought Mary's hand. Bash had stayed away from her when Francis commanded it, had accepted that she would never be his, and that he should admire her from afar. Bash had resented it but he had done it, because he was loyal to his brother and his future king. And, if truth be told, he had also done it because being away from Mary made it just a little easier for Bash to pretend he didn't care for her. But for all that, fate had thrown Mary in Bash's path, had stepped in to virtually force Bash to claim Mary for his own. There was no point in pursuing what if's. The choice between Mary or the executioner was an easy one.

Bash was pulled away from his thoughts by the sound of Mary's soft steps approaching. Yet he did not turn to look, choosing instead to bring some order to his thoughts in those last moments before she reached him.

"So pensive," Mary said, seeming to invite him to share his thoughts.

There was something about this Queen of the Scots that made Bash want to bare his soul, to make her know him, understand him, as no other. But Mary was not ready for the full truth, and so Bash was careful with his reply, circumspect in what he said. But he couldn't contain it all, couldn't stop from hinting at his feelings. A light entered his eyes and a slight tone of awe entered his voice as he spoke of Mary becoming his wife.

Bash did not miss the slight twinge on Mary's face when Bash spoke of their wedding. Francis was still in her heart – Bash did not delude himself on that point. So the bastard son turned heir chose not to speak of his own feelings on the matter, simply saying quietly, "You're going to be my wife. How very unexpected." Then Bash gave her a small smile, and looked away, so as not to demand an answer by holding her gaze. But before he turned, he saw the small smile on her face in return and understood it for what it was: a mark of Mary's appreciation that Bash did not demand a response from her, did not demand that she lie to him and tell him what he knew not to be true, or force her to admit the truth aloud, causing pain to them both.

They looked on in companionable silence, until it was time to return to the throne room for Bash's appointment as Regent. Bash offered Mary his arm, and they walked together to meet the eyes of the court, united in their unspoken commitment to this new path.


	2. Chapter 2: Rumors and Reputation

**Chapter 2: Rumors and Reputation**

Some days later Bash found himself gazing around the foyer of the castle at an alarmingly large gathering of nobles. The amount of time these people spent standing around drinking, eating, and gossiping astounded him. But apparently there was much information of importance to be gleaned from who was gossiping about who and to whom, or so Francis had once told him. He had laughed at the time and said he was glad to leave that to Francis.

Now Bash wished he could ask Francis what he had meant, of whom Francis thought Bash should beware, ask why in the world it mattered that the Vicount and Vicountess of B- had made their appearance at court rather suddenly. Bash felt at sea, without anyone in whom he could confide. That had long been the case, but the absence of a guide to explain the inner workings of the court and courtesans had never mattered before. Bash had always been permitted to sit at the edges and amuse himself by observing the silly court games being played out, as if it was a play staged for his entertainment. He hadn't needed to fully understand to be amused.

Now it was more like a gauntlet he had to endure. Bash's elevation to Regent had garnered significant attention from the nobles, to say the least. To have both the king and the heir apparent Francis absent from court at the same time was extremely rare. In the years far past, Catherine had been named Regent in Henry's absence. The cooling of the royal couple's relationship since the birth of their youngest son had changed that, but Francis had been older then, and whatever lord the King had appointed Regent had always worked in conjunction with Francis. This was Francis's world, and Bash dearly wished he could ask his brother's advice. That was clearly impossible.

As Bash gazed around the room, searching for a friend, an ally, anyone in whom he could place a little trust, his eyes fell on Mary. As usual, the sight of her brought a smile to his face. A moment later, however, Bash realized who was talking to her, and his eyes narrowed. He forced an amiable look on his face and strolled over.

"Hello Mary, Vicountess." Bash nodded to the lady talking to his soon to be fiancé. The Vicountess gave him a barely concealed glare, and stiffly curtsied as she made a quick excuse to leave.

Mary turned to look at him amusedly. "You should watch that one, and her husband, who appears to be giving you the evil eye currently. I regret to inform you they have no love lost for you."

"A tragedy of the greatest proportions." Bash said dryly. "I thought perhaps a rescue would be in order for you, so I am glad to see I succeeded in scaring her off." He grinned at her. "I accept many forms of thanks, in case you wondered." He ended with a characteristically cheeky response.

"Hmm, you might not be quite so bold, Sebastian De Poiters, if you knew what the lovely Vicountess had just been telling me." Mary said archly, enjoying the game.

Bash's face darkened. "Something ill of me I gather by your first comment. I hope you will not believe all the stories you hear of me, Mary."

"Certainly not Sebastian – though this one I think had the ring of truth. But it is not one I will hold against you. Though, I am glad to hear that after gravely endangering the future Vicountess's engagement and spoiling her maidenhood you decided to set your sights on only married women." Mary's tone remained teasing, not withstanding the gravity of what she said. "Lucky that your father stepped in to force the marriage, really – though I do not think it gained you any support in that corner from either the reluctant bridegroom or the shamed bride."

Bash's good humor evaporated as Mary spoke. Mary did not seem angry – something that surprised him, given the indelicacy of the Vicountess in divulging so many sordid details to Mary. But he cringed at the thought of how many other such encounters Mary might have, now and after his father returned from Rome.

"Mary," he began awkwardly, not certain how to address such an uncomfortable situation. "The life of a bastard has little certainty and few joys, and little to hope for tomorrow. From the time I was a boy I learned to claim happiness – or at least pleasure – where I could, without thought for what might come to pass next. I am afraid there are more such stories that might be told, particularly from my youth. Had I known the good fortune that was in store for me in meeting you, I assure you, I would have charted a different course."

"You speak as if you are an old man, Sebastian, when you are far from it," Mary teased. She noticed the worry creasing his face, however, and continued more seriously, "Bash, your reputation was well known to me before I suggested that we wed. I will not be deterred from this course by what I already knew in principle, if not in detail."

Bash softened a little, heartened that she had reverted to his nickname, but her words had raised a new worry. "You are too generous Mary. But your words hardly reassure me, since it seems you think me the blackest of knaves. I cannot claim to have been a saint but I am sure that like all rumors at French court my reputation has been greatly exaggerated from the reality."

Mary laid a hand on his arm. "I think that you are a good man, who has been there for me time and again. And-" she paused for a moment, and then continued a shade awkwardly, "It has not escaped my notice that whatever your prior habits may have been, since your father agreed to make you king and promised me to you, you have been a model betrothed, even though our engagement is technically secret. That is far more than your brother gave me," she said, with a little heat, "and far more than I deserve, given what you have been through on my account, with so little promised from me in return."

A whisp of regret passed over Mary's face. Bash saw it and understood that despite her candid admission of Francis' faults, the golden prince still reigned supreme in her heart. Bash knew he could not displace that blush of first love in Mary's heart, not yet, but he wanted to make her understand how differently he intended to behave than his brother. Bash placed a hand over hers, and fixed her with his gaze. "You are promised to be my wife Mary. That is not so little to me. As I said, when one has you, it is unfathomable to look elsewhere."

For a moment Mary was frozen, pinned by unassuming adoration in his eyes. The heat rose in her face. It was just like Bash to bare his heart without expecting anything in return – as if his feelings for her were simply a fact of life, like breathing. Looking at such feeling in Bash's eyes, she wondered how long she would deny Bash her heart, once he had claimed her hand. The thought was terrifying and exhilarating all at once, and the unexpectedness of her reaction made her look away from Bash's gaze. Just like that the moment was broken.

Bash too diverted his eyes, and continued in a more practical tone. "You should not listen to such stories Mary. Those who tell them mean no good by sharing."

Mary chose to respond to this last remark only, unwilling to give an answer to the feelings Bash had expressed just moments before. "But some good may come of the telling, even if none was intended." Bash looked at her quizzically. "We need to know which of your former acquaintances is embittered by your sudden rise in status and will look for any opportunity to knock you down, and which are eager to turn prior acquaintance to present advantage by being close to the future king."

Bash looked wary. He wasn't sure he liked hearing such political maneuvering from Mary, who had always seemed above such politicking. "Careful, Mary, or you will end up like them. You have already succeeded in convincing my father to change the line of succession, which is a greater political manipulation than either my mother or Queen Catherine have ever managed, and they are expert schemers."

Mary blushed, with shame or anger he wasn't sure, but her next comment made her feelings clear. She retorted rather sharply, "Schemes and manipulating seem to be the only thing French royalty respond to. Certainly they do not honor their promises. I will not apologize for finding a way to save you and my country and Francis."

Some part of Bash's mind noted that Francis had fallen last in that list. But at the moment he was focused on the angry flush on Mary's face. Bash had spoken without thinking, and he hastily retreated. "And I am eternally grateful you did, as a crown is better than the executioner's block any day. I assure you I find no fault in what you did." He paused, anxious to place his words in their right context in her mind. "You have more integrity than any royal I have ever met, Mary. When you use your power, you do so to help others. I admire that."

Mary seemed mollified by the response, and in turn relented of her own sharp words. "I do not plan on engaging in any more scheming if I can help it, Bash. But my life has been threatened more times than I care to count since returning to French court. I have to know who my enemies are."

"And my enemies, too, it would seem." Bash said teasingly, trying to return some of the light-heartedness that had marked the start of their conversation.

"Your enemies are my enemies, Bash." Mary said matter of factly, her gaze sweeping the room as if she was seeking to identify those enemies by sight.

Bash looked at her with a little wonder, a smile on his face. How quickly she had accepted this mantle as his fiancé, had accepted that their fates would be intertwined! It was not the love he dreamed of earning from her, but it was so much more than he had hoped was possible a short time ago.

Mary's gaze returned to him once again, and she tilted her head at his open smiling gaze. "What?" she asked curiously.

His smile grew broader. "I was just thinking, in that case perhaps I should share a few stories with you myself. Now, you see the earl over there, I used to drink with him often before his father and elder brother died and he inherited the title. And when he was drunk, he had the strangest tendency . . ."


	3. Chapter 3: Lessons in Human Nature

**Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews, follows, & favs! I started writing this for my own enjoyment but it's nice to see others like it too. Here's a short chapter. It was supposed to be just a couple paragraphs transitioning from the last chapter to the material that's in the next chapter, but kind of grew to the point that I figured I would just break it out on its own.**

**Chapter 3: Lessons in Human Nature**

To Bash's surprise, the rest of the afternoon turned out to be quite pleasant – no doubt because he spent the entirety of it in Mary's company. Bash had made her laugh with his stories, which he considered quite an accomplishment. Since Francis left court, Mary had been a little subdued. Though she made every effort in public, Bash observed that sometimes when she thought no one was watching, her eyes would wander toward the window and out over the fields, as if she was trying to see across the miles to Francis. Though he understood the need to grieve for what she had given up, he thought it would do Mary good to forget for awhile – and just maybe help her start to move on. So seeing her come alive in Bash's company was heartening.

Bash would have liked to spend the entire afternoon making Mary laugh, but that of course wouldn't do. Mary saw to it that they worked the room together, though, seizing the opportunity to link the couple in the minds of the nobility. Watching her in action, Bash was impressed. Without Henry or Francis around to overshadow her and cast her in the role of naïve girl or damsel in distress, Mary's innate grace, poise, and wisdom shone through. She was truly regal, in the best sense of the word.

Mary insisted on meeting the newly minted young earl whose drinking habits Bash described with such merciless humor. As it turned out, the earl himself broached the topic of his wild youth, winking at Mary & slapping Bash on the shoulder. Bash was surprised hear the earl speak with such warmth of their prior camaraderie. Bash's acquaintance with the man had ended when the death of the earl's father and brother had elevated him to the unexpected title. The earl seemed genuinely pleased to find Bash counted among his acquaintances again.

Bash and Mary spent a quarter of an hour in pleasant conversation with the irrepressible earl and his wife. While Mary was engrossed in a conversation with the lady about the estate's orchards, the earl pulled Bash aside to murmur what a pleasant surprise the Queen of Scots was turning out to be. By the end, Bash had to agree with Mary's assessment that the earl most certainly was in the category of those eager to turn prior acquaintance to present advantage - and was genuinely likeable too.

Unfortunately, the earl seemed to be the exception rather than the rule. While Mary charmed and pleased, there was an undeniable air of caution and even hostility from nearly all of the other nobles. They might have liked Bash as the favored but powerless bastard son, but Sebastian de Poitiers the Regent and suspected pretender to the throne was another matter.

Nearly everyone there was familiar to Bash from growing up around this Court, but now he was viewing them with new eyes. In addition to his own stories of them, Mary's ladies had their own tidbits to add, which they gleefully did when Mary and Bash told them in a private moment of their plan for the afternoon's gathering. Kenna, of course, had a great deal of the scandalous sort of gossip to tell. Greer's contributions tended toward the eccentricities that noblemen and noblewomen tended to let slip when only servants were around, giving Bash strong suspicions that Greer had some unusual sources.

In addition, there was a great deal that Bash knew by virtue of being his father's companion. Even a king needed a confidante, if only to gloat over his victories and conquests, small and large. And Henry had loved gloating. If there was one thing Bash had learned from his father's stories, it was that all human foibles and eccentricities could be vulnerabilities under the right circumstances.

Now Bash found himself thinking through everything he knew of the courtiers before him, measuring that against Mary's interests and his own. He was a little discomfited by how quickly his mind turned to such thoughts, but he supposed it was the well-honed adaptation and survival instinct of the bastard. Tomas of Portugal had not been entirely wrong about how a bastard learned to take, learned to survive.

That evening Bash sat alone by his fire, reflecting on the day. When he thought about the hostility directed his way, he was sorely tempted to ride on his horse and be gone, as he had done so many times in the past. But then he thought of Mary – Mary, who had charmed the nobility, impressed the nobility, and responded to the subtle snubs of Bash with an equally subtle defense of him . . . bringing the conversation time and again to those topics where Bash was most comfortable, where Bash had something worth saying. And at the end, as he walked her to her quarters, she had smiled up at him, genuine pleasure in her eyes, telling him how much she had enjoyed having a friend like him with her through the day.

A friend. It was a start. As for the dealing with the hostile nobility - with Mary by his side, Bash felt he could do almost anything.


	4. Chapter 4: Yours to Command

**Chapter 4: Yours to Command**

Late the next morning a page found Bash with a message. "Sire, there is a man in the throne room requesting to speak with you. He says he is seeking to enter your service, and that he bears a letter of introduction from a relative of yours."

Bash raised his eyebrows at the message. No one tried to enter into the service of the bastard son of the French king, even if he was temporarily Regent. It was either a trap, or Diane had gotten word of the king's plans. Either way, Bash figured he had better find out.

"Thank you, I shall be there directly," he said.

On entering the throne room he saw a lean man dressed entirely in black leather, the scabbard for a short sword at his side, and knife tucked into his heavy boots. The visitor's stance was relaxed but subtly positioned for action. Although at first glance the man did not have a particularly threatening look to him, he exuded an indifferent confidence. All this suggested to Bash that the man possessed a certain skill set that Diane de Poiters would certainly feel her son needed in the present circumstances. The regent decided almost immediately that the stranger could be trusted, but prudence suggested caution all the same.

"I understand you are seeking to enter my service," Bash replied.

"That is true, sire," the man replied.

"What is your name?"

"Alec."

"What is your trade, Alec? I'm not in need of a stable boy if that's what you're after and I'm quite capable of dressing myself so I've no need of a valet."

The man had no reaction at all to Bash's attempt to shock him, making Bash suspect he had been forewarned by Diane to expect impertinence. Instead, Alec simply held out a scroll with a slight bow. "I believe this letter will describe my trade and my credentials, sire."

Bash stepped down from the Regent chair to take the scroll, and then retreated a few paces away. He recognized his mother's seal, and when it was broken and the scroll unrolled he recognized his mother's writing. Briefly skimming it, his suspicions were confirmed. Diane had sent him a bodyguard.

The regent looked up at the man appraisingly. "I think perhaps we should discuss this more in private," he said, gesturing to the audience chamber adjoining the throne room. Alec followed him in, along with two of the king's guards. Bash idly wondered if the guards were there to protect him or spy on him.

Certainly Alec's presence did not remain a secret for more than a heartbeat. Whether it was the guards in the audience chamber, or the pages that escorted Alec to his new quarters when Bash had finished the interview to his satisfaction, or the lords that had descended on Bash looking for explanations almost immediately upon his emergence from the audience chamber, Bash didn't know, and in the end it probably didn't matter. News of the new bodyguard's presence spread like wildfire. After all, what did the bastard son of the king need with a bodyguard, unless somebody was planning on making him heir?

By the time Bash saw Mary that afternoon, word of Alec's presence seemed to have reached everywhere in the castle, including to the Queen of Scots.

"Bash, how good to see you. That shadow following you must be your new bodyguard," Mary greeted him, nodding toward where Alec stood a discrete distance away.

"Yes," Bash said with a hint of exasperation, "I attempted to keep my conversation with Alec private and so of course the entire castle knows why he is here."

"Surely this is something you would have told me in any case," Mary replied.

"Of course. My enemies are your enemies after all," Bash said, and was rewarded with a smile for referencing what had become a private joke of sorts. "It's not even that I'm trying to keep him secret. I simply had hoped to give him a few hours at least to settle in before the hounds began to sniff at his heels. As it is, I'm surprised Catherine hadn't already poisoned his pillow by the time he arrived at his new chambers."

Mary smiled. "Perhaps if you had concluded your business with him in the throne room, the courtiers would not find him so interesting. Private audiences always seem more intriguing than public ones."

Bash sighed. "I suppose. Certainly my efforts at privacy don't seem to have made a difference in the end." He looked piercingly at her, pondering her insightfulness. "You are far savvier than my father gives you credit for."

"Since I returned to Court your father has treated me like a pawn more than a Queen Regnant." Mary's tone had changed to carry a ring of authority to it as she stared unseeingly into the distance. It was as if she was seeing the offending king in her mind's eye and daring him to under-estimate her now.

"And Francis treats you like a beautiful but willful girl that needs to be schooled in the ways of French court," Bash hazarded. At that Mary's focus snapped back to him. Bash knew he was treading on dangerous ground, but he thought Mary needed some perspective. He shoved aside a twinge of guilt at this disloyalty to his brother. Under the circumstances, it would do no-one any good for Mary to set Francis on a pedestal. And that was in real danger of happening, now that Francis wasn't around to remind Mary daily with his actions that the fair-haired prince had faults as well as virtues. "Come now Mary, I love my brother too, but you yourself once described him as arrogant and moody."

"That was before I knew him," Mary countered.

"And knowing him changed your mind?" Bash challenged.

Suddenly a vivid memory came to Mary's mind – the memory of her fight with Francis about Olivia staying. That had been one of several occasions on which a piqued Francis had reminded her that this was _his_ court, and that she would have to learn that part of her queenly duties was to bend to his will. Indeed, the first time he had told her what her queenly duties were had been shortly after her arrival at court, when she had naively thought to share her joy in the rocks she found by the pond, and instead caught him with a lover. The memories were jarring. Francis _had_ been arrogant with her, even after he supposedly had fallen in love with her.

She looked at Francis' brother now, staring at her with kind eyes as if he knew what was going through her mind, and another memory came fast on the heels of the last. It was the memory of this same man patiently listening as Mary poured out her heart about his brother, and of that sweet forbidden kiss that, just like Bash, had terrified her and exhilarated her.

Bash took Mary's long silence to mean his point had struck home, and decided to offer an olive branch. "I know Francis only wanted to protect you. I just can't help but think . . . ." he trailed off, uncertain how to continue.

"That he might have had more success protecting me if he had fully supported me?" Mary finished. "But that was not entirely in his control Bash. After all, the dauphin of France must think of France first."

"And Francis was in a very awkward position, caught between you and his mother, thanks to Catherine's designs on you." Bash agreed. "Regardless of the reasons, you have been in a great deal of danger, Mary, and I can't help but feel that you were left to face those dangers alone for far too long." He stopped, taking her hands in his own as he turned to face her. "Mary, yesterday you said my enemies were your enemies. But it works the other way too. Your enemies are my enemies. You are not alone now."

Mary smiled at him, accepting the olive branch. "Bash, you have been on my side since I first arrived in Court. You told me so that evening when you returned Sterling, and I have not forgotten. I always feel safer when you are around."

Bash squeezed her hands, and said in a lighter tone. "I feel ridiculous having a bodyguard when you have none. With all the attempts on your life, why has your mother not sent you a contingent of Scottish guards?"

Mary sighed. "I have asked for them. But with the frequent threat at the English border it is hard to spare men. After all, I should be well-protected by my allies here in France."

"You are the Queen of Scotland, if you command it, it should be done."

Mary shifted a little uncomfortably. "I have been gone from Scotland a long time. Too long, really. If the Regent was anyone other than my own mother, I would have serious fear for my crown. As it is, I think many in Scotland still see me as a little girl and think of my mother as the real power. Sometimes I feel like a mere figure head." She looked up at her companion with worry in her eyes.

Mary's honest admission touched Bash. Admitting weakness was dangerous for a queen. The illusion of power could, at times, be as potent as actual power. Yet here was the Queen of Scots, in the midst of a vipers nest of enemies at French court, trusting the upstart bastard with the truth of her anxiety, her fear. He wanted her to know he was honored by that trust – and to relieve her fears.

"You are a true queen, Mary, one any subject would be proud to serve." He gave her his disarming smile. "I, for one, will be yours to command when I am your king."

Mary looked at him a little startled, seemingly momentarily speechless. Bash furrowed his brow, not understanding her reaction. "Have I said something wrong, Mary?"

"No, its just . . . Francis said something like that . . . only not quite the same. He spoke of me being a queen that any king would be proud to have at his side."

"I am not Francis," Bash replied, annoyance with his brother surfacing for many reasons. "And you are not just a dutiful queen destined for nothing more than standing at the side of some king. You are – you are magnificent Mary."

Mary smiled at him then in earnest, her eyes alight at Bash's words. Her next words took on a playful tone. "Then when we are married we shall have to make a triumphant bridal tour of Scotland, to reestablish my dominance."

"An excellent idea," Bash agreed.

"Such quick agreement!" Mary exclaimed. "You will be the heir to the French throne, shouldn't you worry about being away from your country for so long?

"If we marry I will also be the King of Scotland, won't I?"

"The King Consort," Mary amended cheekily.

"Precisely. And I will only be some prince in France. I think Scotland trumps in that case, don't you?"

Mary grinned with delight. "I quite agree. You are a wise man, Sebastian de Poitiers."

The playfulness in her voice was like the sun breaking through the clouds to Bash. For the rest of their walk Mary's step was lighter and her face brighter, and for that Bash felt his day had been well spent.


	5. Chapter 5: Undue Risks

**Chapter 5: Undue Risks**

Given the unexpected furor that Alec's arrival at court had caused, Bash was surprised at how quickly the man's presence came to be expected, even mundane, for those around him. Bash himself had far more trouble getting accustomed to it. He liked the man, but there was virtually no one that he wanted around him all the time. Except maybe Mary. He would certainly be up to giving it a try with Mary. The novelty of being allowed to be in her presence freely, at any time of day (though not of course any time of night) was too novel for him to take any time with her for granted.

Alec, on the other hand, Bash often wanted to toss over the side of the balcony, usually because he was being impossibly right about something Bash didn't want to hear. The man was constantly on the lookout for threats, spies, conspiracies, and assassins. He usually had some valid basis for his fits of caution, but they drove Bash mad all the same. And Alec insisted on lots of weapon training. Impossible amounts of weapons training. Bash fancied himself a good swordsman and a decent archer, at least for hunting, and his time in the lowlier parts of society had made him good with smaller blades too. But Alec demanded that he be better, faster, more vigilant, and it drove Bash crazy.

As retribution, Bash tweaked Alec every chance he could, on any topic he could. Bash chose to exact revenge by lobbing vaguely insulting comments that provoked Alec to reveal his history – though Bash suspected Alec was not really provoked at all, and was simply playing along. Bash learned that Alec had acquired his skills during his wide travels in the Holy Land and in the Germanic kingdoms to the north. Alec had not spent much time in Italy – "Not his favorite place," the man had said in a non-committal tone.

The reason for that became clearer when Bash had taken him to the edges of the blood wood, and explained what was in there. Alec was disturbed by what Bash told him of the blood cult's practices, and not because Alec was a good devote Christian, Bash discerned. Alec was a pagan who disliked seeing the faith corrupted. More fuel to the fire of hate – though personally Bash thought it made little difference. There had been no blood cult 15 years ago when Isobel's father and all the other "heretics" had been put to death for following the pagan faith.

There was, however, one area where Alec refused to divulge his secrets, and it was this area that Bash took to pestering the man about most vehemently. On this day, they were preparing for a ride, and Alec had annoyed Bash again by conducting what Bash viewed as a ridiculously thorough inspection of the stables. So Bash turned to his favorite topic – which incidentally was one where he thought he really ought to know the answer anyway.

"Just what is it that my mother has on you which makes her so sure she you will be loyal? What can she possibly know about you that makes you want to be so bloody protective of me, a grown man, with no mean fighting skills, mind you."

"I'm being well-paid, as you know," Alec said calmly.

"It can't be just the money she's paying you, because Catherine could certainly outbid Diane, costing her considerable funds and my life all at the same time. I know my mother is smarter than that. It isn't just the money," Bash pressed his bodyguard, as they came around the outside corner of the stable.

Before Alec could give him another non-responsive answer, however, the two spotted Lola just arriving from a ride, handing off her horse to a stable boy to be cared for.

"Ah lucky dog, you are saved by the arrival of a lady." Bash said scathingly under his breath as he turned to the new arrival. He greeted Mary's lady in waiting in a more normal tone. "Lola, how lovely to see you."

Alec shifted slightly, placing himself to meet Lola first, subtly attempting by his own physical presence to keep her separated from Bash. His charge noticed.

"Ah, you see Lola, you have such a commanding presence that my bodyguard here is afraid you have come to harm me."

Lola smiled and addressed Alec. "I once helped nurse Bash to health when he was injured. So you see, if I had wanted him dead, I had a far better chance then."

"Circumstances change, and so do people's motivations," Alec said.

"What cause would I have?" Lola queried, though she suspected she already knew what the man was thinking, gossip being what it was.

"Perhaps you were in love with him and are upset that he is betrothed now to your queen."

The bodyguard's words alarmed Bash, who was afraid that Alec's assessment of Lola's feelings might be a little too close to the truth. The man had clearly been talking to people at court.

But Lola simply smiled again, unruffled. "Bash was wounded in the service of Scotland, and I was honored to help return him to health, nothing more. And the danger he is in now also is in the service of Scotland and its queen. I am a loyal subject and would not want to deprive Scotland – or my friend Mary - of such a knight."

Bash was flattered but more than a little embarrassed. "Well now, this is an awkward conversation," he said. "Please, feel free to discuss me all you like without me present. It's much more effective that way. I'll go get the horses ready for our ride." Alec moved to follow him as he turned toward the stable door, but Bash waved him off. "No no, please, continue your conversation with Lola. You've already checked over the stables to be sure no one is waiting to club me with a horseshoe. I think I can saddle our mounts without danger to my life."

Alec hesitated. "In fact, there was something I wanted to discuss with the lady Lola," he said.

"Fine, I'll be right around the corner, come join me when you're done gossiping like an old hen."

As Bash moved away, Lola cocked her head at Alec. "Should a bodyguard be letting his charge out of his sight?" she queried.

Alec gave a small grimace. "Sebastian chafes at my presence. He's right, I've checked the stables – I can grant him a moment of reprieve, in the hopes of staving off a more unwise move on his part later."

"Bash is used to a great deal of freedom and independence. He has already agreed to give up all that freedom for Mary's sake. Now with your arrival he is losing his independence too. Your presence must seem suffocating, however much he may like you personally or understand the necessity."

"I agree," Alec said. "You are very insightful, m'lady, which is why I hoped to speak with you. It is said around the castle that you are first among Queen Mary's ladies, in intelligence if perhaps not in the Queen's favor."

"I think the courtiers have difficulty seeing past Kenna's beauty and her position as the king's former mistress, and dismiss Greer entirely for no reason than that she is not titled."

"Nevertheless, it is said that you are not afraid to speak your mind to Queen Mary, in private at least. I am hoping you can be as forthright with me."

Lola was cautious. "I have already made it clear that I am a loyal subject of Scotland & its queen. What exactly do you want from me?"

"Sebastian and Queen Mary are much together these days, and for the present at least their interests and futures are intertwined as well. In the short time I have been here, it is already clear to me that my charge puts the queen's life far ahead of his own in importance – though he may occasionally unknowingly act in ways that endanger her. As such, I must take an interest in the Queen and her safety if I hope to keep Sebastian safe."

Lola smiled. "Yes, you have probably heard that Bash has already put himself in harm's way for Mary a number of times, and that was when she was still engaged to his brother. It isn't difficult to imagine what he would do now if there were a threat to her."

"Precisely," Alec agreed. "So I am hoping that you could keep me informed, if you will, of anything that it might be useful for me to know, which might cause Bash to take undue risk."

"Are you asking me to spy on my lady, and to help you in pulling the wool over Bash's eyes so that he will not come to my Queen's assistance when needed?" Lola asked, eyes narrow.

"No, of course not. Quite frankly, that would be counter-productive, since if any situation escalated, Sebastian would eventually find out anyway, and then would most likely be in even more danger when he came to the Queen's aid than if he had known from the start. I do not believe ignorance is the way to keep someone safe. Nor do I expect you to betray the confidences of your Queen."

"I see. So you are asking if I will be your ally, as one confidant of a royal to another confidant of a royal, so that we might work together towards our master's and lady's mutual interest." Lola's response was not really a question.

"As I said, you are quite insightful. Yes, that is what I would like."

Lola considered him for a moment. "As Mary has chosen to tie her fate to Bash's, I agree it would be in my lady's interest for us to . . . cooperate. I will help."

"Good," Alec nodded. "And now I must see return to my duty. Thank you, Lady Lola."

"Thank you, Alec," Lola said. "We are all glad you are here."

Unfortunately, Alec had misjudged just how anxious Bash was for some time alone. While Alec and Lola had been talking, Bash had saddled up his own horse only, and took off out the back of the stable, leaving his bodyguard behind.

When Bash returned to the castle, Alec was seething. "Where have you been?" the bodyguard hissed. The man had his suspicions, having made plenty of inquiries already into Bash's habits, as well as having observed which way the stable hand said Bash had rode. But it wouldn't do to make accusations until he heard what Bash had to say.

"Alec, you sound like my mother. Please relax." Bash retorted.

"Your mother is precisely who I was thinking of, in fact. I can hardly keep my word to her to protect you if I don't know where you are."

"Which reminds me, what is it again that she has over you that makes you take your duties so seriously? Really, why weren't you taking advantage of my absence to enjoy the company of some busty serving wench?"

Alec was not deterred by Bash's witty attempt to deflect the conversation and decided not to beat around the bush. "Have you been seeing a certain pregnant lass in the village?"

The question stopped Bash cold. He turned and glared at the man. "How exactly did you know that?"

"Your secrets are not as secret as you would like. You have never had people pay attention to what you did before so you've never learned the skill of hiding your actions – or anything else. We will have to work on that."

Bash was defensive. "I was careful. The courtiers are all too concerned with their midday meal to pay any mind."

"And the servants, and the stable hands?" Alec countered. "It was unwise to see the woman. Any number of unfriendly eyes can now link her to you."

"And without what I bring her, she will die of starvation," Bash retorted.

"Perhaps that would be just as well. How do you think your future wife will react to your mistress being with child?"

"Isobel is not my mistress, she's my cousin!" Bash snapped, infuriated. "You need a better spy network Alec."

"It is not _my_ spy network you need to be concerned about." Alec refused to back down. "Even locked away, the Queen of France is a force to be reckoned with. If you don't care about your own life, think about your pregnant cousin's. You put her life in danger too by visiting her. You must not do it again."

Bash froze in his tracks as the truth of the bodyguard's words sank in. It was true, Isobel was in danger if anyone had seen him. Bash mentally berated himself for not thinking it through more before visiting her. Despite what he told Alec, he really hadn't been all that careful. It was broad daylight, when all the villagers were out and about. Alec was right, he wasn't used to thinking that way. As the king's bastard he never had cause to hide anything he did.

Defeated, Bash sighed. "Alright, in the future I will arrange for someone else to go to her. She can't survive on her own, but I suppose you are right, I shouldn't be endangering her by connecting her to me."

"A wise decision," Alec said. "I will be happy to help in arranging that."

Bash was beginning to wonder who was really the master in this relationship. But he liked Alec, even if the necessity of his presence grated on the younger man. And his mother trusted the bodyguard completely – Diane's letter had made that quite clear. Bash knew that Diane's trust was not easily won and usually quite well-placed. Bash would try to follow the man's advice – in this at least.

**Author's Notes: Wow, what great feedback! Thanks everyone! And sorry there was no Mary/Bash conversation in this one, but I'm really liking writing Bash as a character in his own right, and also I was trying to set-up the 1x10 episode Sacrifice, which is my next chapter. I'm not interested in trying to rehash the episode as a whole, but I really enjoyed writing the "immediately after the kiss" scene. That scene is already written, but even though this is fan-fic and everybody pretty much knows what happens between this chapter I just finished and that kiss, I still want to make the story flow. So I have to write the transition.**

**And I'm glad I could add some lady-in-waiting in there for those looking for that . . . I had already written a small piece of the Lola bit, and I knew I wanted to write Bash going to see Isobel, triggering 1x10. Then somebody asked for more about the ladies, and then I was thinking about how in Sacrifice Lola and Alec seemed to have a certain connection (when they were all hatching what to do with Isobel) . . . and all the pieces clicked into sequence for me and this resulted.**


	6. Chapter 6: Sacrifice - Omens

**Chapter 6: Sacrifice – Part I**

Alec's warning about endangering Isobel proved only too true, too quickly.

The morning had not started off well, which looking back seemed like some kind of omen. Yet even if he had recognized it as such, there was nothing that could have prepared Bash for how the day would spiral out of control so badly, from Isobel in chains, to the guards chasing them through the forest, to a severed horse's head outside their tent in the blood wood and finally a fight with a hysteric Mary.

Alec had joined Bash as he was breaking fast in his new suite of rooms. Bash's prior quarters had been comfortable enough – being the king's favorite did have some perks – but the suite of rooms he had now was still a considerable upgrade, as was being served breakfast in privacy there when he chose. In the short time since Alec had arrived, it had become routine for Alec to break fast early with Bash in private, before the rest of the court was up, so that the two could discuss whatever needed to be discussed. Alec's skills included all forms of stealth, and he had very quickly developed an impressive informant network, all geared toward ferreting out any hint of a blade aimed at his master's heart, metaphorically or literally.

This day, the concern seemed to be literal.

"Sir Hugo is plotting something." Alec began without preamble, swiping a biscuit from the table. 

"Sir Hugo is always plotting something," Bash replied, but without much heat.

"Yes, but this time he is enlisting unusual allies. One of the kitchen maids was apparently very upset after Sir Hugo pulled her aside for a rather one-sided conversation. A kitchen maid is a little below Sir Hugo's usual choice of consort, so it doesn't seem to be anything of that sort. And the girl's friend seemed to think the Sir Hugo had been threatening some relative she has in the village to get the kitchen maid to do something."

"I would guess this came from the Lady Greer."

"Via Lola, yes."

Bash pondered the situation for a moment. He felt weary inside. Alec had relayed a disturbing number of rumors about plots against him in the time since the bodyguard arrived at court, from almost laughable ones simply designed to make Bash look ridiculous to more sinister ones. It made Bash feel like he needed to be constantly looking over his shoulder. It was a tiring feeling. And now Sir Hugo was in the mix. The lord didn't seem like the practical joker kind.

"Sir Hugo was never one of the queen's lackeys before," Bash pondered. "Is there reason to suspect Catherine has her claws into him now?"

"Accordingly to the Lady Kenna, he is in line to receive additional lands and title from a cousin that has no legitimate heir. But the lord has a bastard son that he would like to legitimize. Apparently, rumors of the king's intentions have emboldened the lord to believe it could be done." 

"And Sir Hugo and all the others like him are afraid of what Mary has unleashed." Bash sighed. "I suppose we shall have to be all the more vigilant, but I can't see what we do about it. A scared kitchen maid doesn't give us much to go on to figure out his plan." The two finished their meal in silence, Bash brooding over what was beginning to seem like an insurmountable set of obstacles.

Sir Hugo's potential plot, and the worry about what other plots the nobility might be hatching against him, were still weighing on Bash's mind when Mary found them at their training. His frustration with the situation laced his response to her gentle reprimand for not planning to attend the morning's audience. The nobles weren't interested in finding out if he could do the job of king – they just saw him as a threat.

"You want me to tell you the nobles are on your side? They're not." Mary reminded him bluntly. "But you won't be the first king that's had to subdue a restive nobility. You can do it."

Bash wasn't entirely sure he shared Mary's confidence in him, but for the moment, the fact that she had such confidence eased the tension he was feeling just a little. He managed a smile and moved to put up his swords. He tried to make one of his jokes, but what came out wasn't quite as far removed from his prior thoughts as he intended. "So, thanks to my father's lust for England and your need to marry a French king I have a target on my back. Which explains why my mother sent me Alec, my delightful new bodyguard."

"Alec, I'm glad you're here," Mary said.

"That makes one of us," Bash said, not able to resist poking at the man again. Alec chose not to rise to the bait, simply nodding at Mary.

Mary took a deep breath, and Bash could tell she was bracing herself to say something. "Bash, I know I backed you into this, but . . ." the look on Mary's face was pained.

Bash kicked himself a little for making her feel guilty. "Don't apologize. I accepted this with my eyes open," he reminded her, offering her his arm as he had so many other times in the time since he was appointed Regent.

As they walked away from the training room, he changed the subject. "So, what do you think is in store for me at today's audience? I hope its something particularly difficult so I can dazzle these hostile nobles with how well I perform."

Mary smiled, but Bash could tell she was tense. "Anything that interesting will have to be deferred for the judgment of the king, I'm afraid. You're probably in for nothing more exciting than a dispute over the ownership of a few escaped sheep."

"Sheep. Well, that would be one way to prove I'm up to the job." Bash quipped.

"Given what my stay at court has been like so far, a little less excitement and a few more lost lambs would be nice." Mary said.

"Well, follow me to the throne room m'lady, perhaps you'll be in luck."

**Author's Notes: I've been experiencing a little bit of writer's block, so I haven't gotten much farther than this. Hopefully I'll be able to break through over the weekend, but in the meantime I thought I'd post a little something. I prefer to spend more time on original material than retelling the scenes from the episode – because after all, Sacrifice was the best for Mash! And I definitely intend to stay canon through Inquisition. (After that, we'll see). But the events of Sacrifice are so crucial to Mary & Bash's relationship development so they have to be part of my story.**


	7. Chapter 7: Sacrifice - Truths

**Author's Notes: The parts you recognize are, of course, from 1x10 Sacrifice, which we all know I don't own!**

**Chapter 7: Sacrifice Part II**

As Bash rode hard through the forest several hours later, he found himself heartily wishing Mary's comment that there would be nothing more exciting than lost sheep at the royal audience had been true. Unfortunately, Mary's powers of prediction had proved far poorer than those of Nostradaumus.

For the first 45 minutes of the royal audience it had seemed like Mary would get her wish. Bash was so tired from the morning's training that it had been hard to even pretend to be interested in the mundane cases being put before him. On the sidelines, Mary had seemed torn between amusement and annoyance at his somewhat colorful judgments.

And then it had all gone horribly wrong. First, the shocking sight of his dear cousin Isobel hauled before him in chains, and then the attack by the old peasant woman. All of it ending up with him here, riding through the forest, trying to lead away Queen Catherine's guards, all the while pretending like he didn't know they were there and yet never letting them catch him.

Bash finally lost them by turning down a barely visible hunter's path that only the most experienced of woodsman would recognize. When the riders had past him by and the dust had settled in the distance, he rode hard in the other direction, toward Mary, Isobel, and Alec.

Mary's plan to steal away with Isobel in plain view had him even more on edge than he would have been had he been sneaking away with Isobel. His young queen was taking a tremendous risk for him. Some part of Bash had expected Mary to turn and run when he told her of Isobel and his own connection to a notorious traitor. But Mary hadn't hesitated for a second, hadn't once shown a moment of doubt that maybe she had put too much at risk for this scheme of marrying Bash. She had been worried, she had been angry at the plotters, she had been angry at him when she thought he had abandoned a woman carrying his child - but she hadn't doubted or second guessed her choice. Instead, she took command.

Bash admired her for that, and yet he worried too. What would happen if she found out about his pagan ties? Mary was far more open minded than any other noble he knew, but how far would that extend? The chances of it coming out on this misadventure were high, and Bash felt like he was letting her take this incredible risk under false pretenses. Surely if she knew, that would be the end of her willingness to pursue this scheme of legitimizing him and marrying him.

He felt anger and frustration at that – what shame was there in these pagan ties, really? Bash wanted to trick himself into thinking it wouldn't matter, that Mary was growing to love him and wouldn't care. But every time he tried to tell himself that, the unyielding voice of many years of harsh experience responded that a young Queen raised by nuns in a convent was not likely to view his pagan ties as anything but heretical. And even if she did, she had her country and her throne to consider.

Bash sighed inwardly. If they got out of this alive, he would have to tell her. She needed to know before she got into this any deeper, and she needed to know from him. He owed her that.

The acting regent was relieved when he finally caught up to the carriage. Mary was worriedly looking out the window, no doubt wondering whether the approaching rider was friend or foe, but her face cleared a little as he pulled alongside the carriage. "Bash," she said in relief, and then immediately, "Were you followed?"

"Yes, but the queen's guards don't know those woods half as well as I do. Still, they are bound to figure out their mistake eventually and will come charging this direction."

"We can only hope the lead you have given us will be enough then," Mary replied. "We certainly can't outrun them in this carriage if they do catch up."

"Those bumbling idiots couldn't find their own arse in the dark," Isobel said contemptuously, while shifting in obvious physical discomfort. "Bash is the fastest rider in the land and a great woodsman. It will be enough."

Mary's eyebrows shot up in surprise at the girl's manner of expression, but she quickly recovered, shooting Bash a quick smile before replying, "You have a great deal of faith in your cousin I see. He is lucky to have a family member so loyal."

"Given how fickle his castle relatives are you mean?"

"Isobel," Bash tried to head his cousin off at the pass, but as always Mary rose to the occasion with grace.

"I only meant that I can see that the two of you mean a great deal to each other. You are very fortunate to have that. It is not always the case. I am not close to my own family."

"Those overly pious nuns in the convent didn't treat you like family then?" Isobel retorted, her sudden hostility taking Mary by surprise again.

Bash groaned inwardly. "Isobel, please," he started, silently begging her with his eyes to not start airing her grievances with the Catholic Church now.

"They were very good to me," Mary defended her childhood caretakers. "One of them died for me, eating poisoned porridge that was intended for me."

Bash jumped at the opening Mary gave him. "And now Mary the good nun's sacrifice might be for naught. You have put yourself in harm's way to help me and my family."

"Your enemies are my enemies." Their mantra slipped off Mary's tongue without hesitation, but this time it terrified Bash rather than thrilling him.

"These ones don't have to be, " he pleaded. "You've done more then enough getting Isobel away from the castle. You don't have to go on. Take my horse and return now. Alec can go with you. I will take Isobel on."

"Absolutely not," Mary replied. "Her baby could come at any time and you will not know what to do. No, Bash I will not hear of it," she cut him off as he started to protest. "It is my fault you both are in this position. I intend to see this through."

Bash exchanged a look with Alec and then shook his head in defeat. "As you wish," he sighed, and fell back a little from the carriage.

Inside, Isobel was looking at Mary curiously. "Are you doing this for me or for him?"

"As you are his family, I am beginning to think it is all one in the same."

"I doubt Prince Francis or the king would approve. Aren't they supposed to be his family too?"

Mary looked away sadly. "That is my fault too I am afraid. I am the wedge that came between them."

"So you're the one that told Henry to threaten Bash with execution just so he could get political leverage? " Isobel retorted. "No? Then I don't think it was you that put a wedge between them."

"And Francis?" Mary's voice betrayed a slight tremor. "They were the best of friends until I ran away with Bash."

"_Bash_ decided to run away with _you_, as I hear it," Isobel replied. "And Francis wasn't afraid to pull rank to get Bash to do what he wanted. Francis said there was trust between them but when push came to shove he made sure Bash knew his place. Look at how he made Bash stay away from you while the prince was seeing his mistresses. Francis was a spoiled child."

"You are talking of people you do not know," Mary said harshly.

Isobel noticed that Mary did _not _say "speaking of your betters" and gave the Queen of Scots points for that. But the brash peasant girl plunged on, determined to make this queen admit the true worth of Isobel's dear cousin.

"I know more than you might think. Bash's royal relatives expected Bash's loyalty without giving any in return. But I would do anything for Bash and he would do anything for me. My question is what about you?"

"Bash has risked his life for me many times. He has always been there for me. And now I am returning the favor."

"You aren't really doing this for me, then are you?" Isobel said, trying to make Mary admit the truth.

"The longer this conversation goes on, the more I think I am doing it for Bash alone," Mary said tartly.

"That's how it should be," Isobel pounced. "Bash doesn't need you to risk your life out of guilt. He needs you to do this because you believe in him."

"I do believe in Bash," Mary's tone left no room for disagreement.

Isobel's demeanor changed, and she leaned back, satisfied. "That is how it should be when two people are together, shouldn't it? Always looking out for each other, supporting each other, believing in each other?"

"Yes, it should," Mary said slowly, her own thoughts traveling back to a recent conversation with Bash about Francis not supporting her. The longer Francis was away, the more she was doubting what they had had. Had it really been love? Or was it simply infatuation? Mary was beginning to think her torrid affair with Francis lacked something essential, something she very much wanted in a relationship.

The two women lapsed into silence, each involved in their own thoughts, and worrying about the guards that trailed an unknown distance behind them.

Bash called for a halt just before they reached the fork in the road where they would have to choose to enter the blood wood or continue on the main road. The horses needed a rest, and Bash needed to assess the situation before deciding which way to take them.

Despite the danger they were all in, he felt a warm glow of happiness walking with Mary. It was nice to talk to her about his family. Even with all the time they had been spending together, there was still much about himself that Bash hadn't told Mary, and he liked that she was taking an interest in knowing him. He realized there were many things he didn't know about her either. He wanted to know everything about this unusual queen, this kind woman walking beside him. Bash couldn't quite believe how calm she was, how she seemed to be always thinking of others.

When Mary again took the blame for putting Isobel in danger, Bash felt another twinge of guilt, thinking that Mary didn't know he and Isobel were always in danger because of their pagan ties. He turned and placed a hand on Mary's arm– the only sign of affection he had ever allowed himself with her, except once – and told her to stop blaming herself.

"I would like to," Mary replied, and he heard the hurt in her voice. "But when you say you feel trapped, I can't help but think –"

"But I don't feel trapped by you!" Bash rushed to say. "I feel trapped by the politics, the rules, the formalities. What I feel about you is . . ." and then Bash stopped, the words stuck in his mouth, finding it hard to admit out loud what he knew without a doubt to be true.

Before he could find his nerve, Mary made her own hasty response. She looked away uncertainly and moved past Bash, as if to hide her own face and what it might reveal to him. "You don't need to say anything. Our engagement happened so quickly, we haven't had time-" and there was just _that_ edge to her tone, that made Bash think maybe Mary wasn't entirely in control of her own feelings, that there had been a crack in that wall she had put around her heart when she gave up Francis, that may he might stand a chance -

– but the clattering of horses interrupted him from finding out. The guards were close by.

Damn. For so many reasons, damn.

They hurried back to the carriage. This discussion would have to wait.


	8. Chapter 8: Sacrifice - The Kiss

**The parts you recognize are from Reign Episode 1x10 Sacrifice.**

**Chapter 8: Sacrifice Part III**

Bash was uneasy setting up camp in the blood wood that evening. There was no telling what the night would bring. Alec had pulled him aside while the girls were talking and suggested that they set up the pagan symbols to show solidarity with the cult members they knew were lurking somewhere nearby. Bash had readily agreed. He would do anything to keep Mary, Isobel and the baby safe. It was an easy decision. Still, the fear Bash felt was not only from the danger to their lives. He realized grimly that Mary was almost certain to discover the truth about her new fiance's pagan ties before the night was out, and he braced himself for her reaction.

When Mary's reaction came, fresh off the terror of the near-miss with the blood cult and the slaughter of the horse, it was as bad as Bash feared. All his efforts to steel himself for it were to no avail. Her harsh words of condemnation cut sharply and Bash realized that despite expecting this reaction, he had been hoping for something different. The young man irrationally felt betrayed at the scared queen's lack of trust in him.

"What I am is alive, and so are you," he responded harshly to her hysterical accusations. The betrayal he felt at her words was mirrored in Mary's face as she rushed past him out of the tent. A pang of regret at his rash words pierced him. He turned to follow her, hoping somehow she would let him explain. The Mary he knew and loved would let him explain.

With the last shred of his self-control Bash begged the hysterical queen not to say something she didn't mean, but Mary was too far gone. Cold disappointment gripped Bash as he heard her spout her ill-conceived notions of pagans, and he bluntly said what he thought, without softening the blow. "Why would I respond to such ignorant cruelty?"

"The pagan is calling the Catholic ignorant!" Mary shot back in shock.

Mary's focus – on ignorance, not cruelty – reminded Bash that this was a girl raised in a Catholic convent, whose only knowledge of pagans came from her terrifying run-ins at the castle with the blood cult. Her barrage of angry accusations seemed to be at an end, and so Bash took a breath and more gently began to explain, hoping against hope to get through to her.

Mary's sudden stillness told him that his point about Isobel's father being just like the Christian martyrs had struck home with her. He could almost _see _the wheels turning in her mind, processing the new information he had given her. Bash was struck by Mary's innate sense of fairness and her willingness to reconsider her conclusions, even ones she had defended so ardently moments before. Mary cared more about what was right than about not being wrong.

Then Alec interrupted, saying it was time for Isobel's baby to be born, and their fight was set aside.

Inside the tent, Bash noticed that Alec watched the young queen warily at first, looking for some sign that she meant Isobel harm now that the laboring woman's paganism was known. Mary gave no such sign. Her fear and condemnation were almost instantly dissipated by the task of helping bring new life to the world. Watching the beautiful Scot at work, Bash was in awe, and his resentment melted away almost as quickly as it had formed. By the time Mary apologized in the morning, Bash already had forgiven her entirely.

Sitting in the carriage across from Mary & the baby on the way back to the castle, Bash felt as if he had aged a hundred years. Mary held the little baby girl with such gentleness and such adoration, and it gave Bash a warm glow thinking of her as a mother. Then almost immediately the realization that it should be Isobel holding the baby and that she never would crashed down on him again. Mary's words about protecting his family by giving up the legitimization scheme – and the chance to make Mary his wife – were never far from his mind. How much danger would this baby be in because of him? How much danger would they be in because of the innocent little girl? Was it worth it? What did he really want?

Bash stared out the window, trying to work through his thoughts. He loved Mary; he might as well admit that to himself. That was even more true now than it had been a mere day before. Some part of him had been expecting rejection to result from this misadventure in the blood woods. In all his time with Mary, a nagging doubt had lurked in the back of Bash's mind that if she really knew him, she wouldn't want to be with him. But she had broken down his doubts one by one.

Almost from the time she returned to court, he had realized that Mary didn't care that he was illegitimate – at least not on a personal level, notwithstanding the limitations her role as the Queen of Scotland placed on her choice of husband. When they had secretly become engaged, Mary had shown that she didn't hold his somewhat checkered romantic past against him, choosing to judge him by his behavior to her rather than his reputation at court. Judging by her apology the morning, it seemed the Catholic queen was even willing to accept her betrothed's pagan ties.

Then there was the issue of his priorities. It had surprised Bash that Mary had not condemned him for being willing to risk so much for his family. His father and Francis certainly wouldn't have thought it was noble. They would have thought it was a weakness a king could ill-afford. Though perhaps that was, in a way, what Mary was saying too, in asking whether he really wanted this in his heart, given the threat it would mean to his family. The difference was Mary understood prioritizing those you loved over power. So many of her fights with Francis stemmed from the fact that the younger prince _wouldn't_ choose love over power.

And what would he do? Bash thought. It wasn't really the same, he realized. It wasn't a choice between love and power. For him, to choose love meant to embrace power he had never wanted. And when it came down to it, love always won out.

His mind decided, Bash pulled his gaze away from the carriage window and looked at the woman sitting across from him, and smiled. He suddenly felt the need to be nearer to her and nimbly switched seats to sit beside her. She smiled up at him, tired, and he rearranged himself again to allow her to lean back against him.

"Sleep," he said gently. "You were up all night with the baby for Isobel. I will make sure you and the baby stay aright."

Mary looked up at him gratefully, and to her companion's pure delight settled herself comfortably in his embrace, head against his chest, and slept.

Much later, after the confrontation with Sir Hugo, and the secret meeting in the wine cellar with the nursemaid, and the back-aching but cathartic work of digging Isobel's grave, Bash had the chance to tell his Mary what he had realized on the carriage ride back. Here at Isobel's grave he had been amazed yet again by this beautiful young Scottish queen, who bravely set aside her own notions of how to honor the fallen and took a blade to her own hand, giving her blood to the earth to mingle with his own. Taking her hand in his own, wrapping it, caring for it, he told her what he had decided.

"I never wanted a crown. But if that is my fate I will accept it. I will learn to wear it. But there is something you should know," Bash said as he clasped her hands together in his. "I am not Francis. My duty will never be to some country, some land, some throne. If I am married to you, you will be my family. I will be in it for you and only you. And if that's not what proper kings do-" He was going to finish by saying, "then I will never be a proper king."

But Mary stopped his declaration of unwavering commitment to her, and only her, for all time, with a hand on his chest. Her expression showed _something_, he wasn't sure what, but something that told the man that his words had found their mark. It felt as if his heart stopped for just a moment, just a breath, and then she was kissing him gently.

Bash touched her face softly, as if to confirm that this was real, that she had really reached for him, for the bastard son of the king, the brother of the golden heir, the man born of a pagan family. As her presence filled his senses, Bash put his arm around her and gathered her to him, reveling in the feel of her responding. Mary tightened her grip on his neck as the passion rose in her too – and it was almost too much to take -

- and then Mary pulled away a little abruptly, laying her forehead on his chest, hiding her face from him.

Bash caressed her hair, silently asking Mary to look at him again with the unbidden emotion he had seen on her face a moment. When Mary did look up though, she was a little sheepish, and a little uncertain, and Bash could see the control dropping back into place. He felt a tug of disappointment. As Mary stepped away from his embrace Bash sensed her drawing away from him again emotionally too.

Bash grabbed her hand to stop her. "Mary," he breathed, and then, with a tinge of pleading in his voice, "please." He gently drew her back to him.

Mary looked at him again then, and this time there was tenderness written there on her face, but it was warring with some other emotion. She placed a hand on his chest, keeping him at a small but safe distance rather than inviting him in. "Bash, you always know just what to say to me," she said with a small smile.

"I meant every word of it," he said, inclining his head down just a bit, inviting her to kiss him again.

But instead Mary placed her other hand tenderly along side his face, caressing his cheek ever so slightly. "I know," she said. "And I –" she cut herself off abruptly, sadness flickering across her face. She closed her eyes briefly and when she looked up again, Bash saw grief and guilt in them. "I hope the Vatican sends word soon." She turned away, and this time Bash did not stop her.

The warmth of her kiss still lingered on Bash's lips. It was maddeningly frustrating, to have her so close, and then to have her pull away. Bash could see all the complications of their situation piling up between them. Francis, Scotland's need for armies, the claim to England, the uncertainty of Bash's legitimization, each of them seemed to be a brick in a wall Mary was deliberately setting up around her heart.

And yet . . . and yet in that moment when Mary had acted on instinct rather than deliberate thought and leaned up to kiss him, Bash was sure he had seen a glimmer of something in her that gave him hope. Perhaps she just needed to open her heart and allow the seeds of love to grow. He would have to think on that.

In the meantime, Bash took refuge in practicalities. "We need to do something about that hand Mary," he said taking it tenderly in his own again as if he needed to carefully examine her palm. In truth Bash was just trying to prolong his contact with her.

Mary frowned as she inspected her hand as well. "Would Nostradamus recognize the wound for what it is?"

"Unfortunately yes. He is quite the expert on pagan rituals."

"And as Nostradamus is Catherine's lackey that makes going to him out of the question. " Mary finished the thought for him. "Who else would be able to make a poultice for us? You need one too."

"Alec will have what we need," Bash said. "A man of action must be able to care for small wounds such as these." They began walking to where Alec was waiting for them a discrete distance away. "The wound is shallow and with proper care should heal without a scar. Still, your hand may be sore for some days. It will be easy for me to say I was cut in a practice session with my bodyguard. But we need some other explanation for you."

"Perhaps I can say I was cut stopping Catherine from plunging a knife in my back," Mary said wryly.

Bash smiled. Her resilience was one of the many things he loved about her. "We will think of something," he said, as they reached Alec.


	9. Chapter 9: Interlude

**Chapter 9: Interlude**

In the end, it was Greer who came up with the explanation they needed for Mary's wound. Mary had been trying to chop vegetables, they would claim. A foolish gesture to try to show solidarity with her soon to be subjects. It was not so difficult to believe for a queen who had spent the better part of her childhood in a convent where even young queens had to do some work. They had even staged the event with a little help from Greer and Leith. It had taken a bit of work to keep Leith from getting a good look at Mary's hand before the "accident" and staging the accident had caused Mary some additional pain, as she had to reopen the wound with the kitchen knife to make it believable. But it was a tidy explanation, and in the days that followed no-one seemed to question it.

Greer had only been partially taken into Mary's confidence. They did not provide Mary's lady any explanation as to how the wound was actually received. To

Greer's credit she did not ask more than once. The many intrigues Mary and her ladies had encountered since arriving at French court had schooled Greer, Lola and Kenna in the necessity of secrets, even from Mary's ladies in waiting. Greer had faith in Mary and accepted the need to be kept in the dark.

Alec, of course, had immediately recognized what the wound was, coming as it did during Isobel's burial. He did not comment on it, but Bash could see the wheels turning in Alec's mind as he reassessed this enigmatic queen. Who was this Mary, Queen of Scots, who could hurl curses at her betrothed Sebastian for being a heretic one night and yet the following day self-inflict a wound out of respect for the pagan beliefs of a Isobel, stranger who had endangered both Mary and Bash and their plans for the throne. Though he had never met Simon, the English envoy, Alec's thoughts unconsciously mirrored Simon's words. It was an unusual royal who would admit to being wrong, and an even rarer one who would undertake action to correct the error.

Once the kitchen accident had been staged and the explanation for the wound accepted throughout court, Bash had hoped to be able to reclaim some time with Mary. He wanted to explore what they had begun by Isobel's grave, to see if Mary's heart could be won. Mary, however, seemed to have different ideas. Though she was frequently present at Bash's side in public, silently supporting his claim to power with her own position and title, they had little time in private. Bash missed her companionship, the easy conversations they could have in private, where each felt free to say their true thoughts. Conversations in public were always in danger of being overheard, and therefore always a little guarded.

The night of Catherine's celebration in honor of Sebastian, the new Regent, Bash made up his mind that he was going to find a way for a word alone with Mary to try to ask what that kiss by Isobel's grave had meant. He was a little embarrassed to be the one asking for definitions to their relationship – it was quite the role reversal from what he was used to. He had always been the one dodging the commitment conversation before. He couldn't help but think that this was some cosmic payback for his past transgressions against the hearts of women. But that didn't change his resolve at all. A feast followed by dancing might not be the ideal venue for such a conversation, but it would provide a distraction for all the pesky courtiers who seemed incapable of letting the Regent and the Queen of Scots have a moment of peace alone together. And stuff ballrooms provided an excellent excuse to step out and get a breath of air.

Bash's resolutions notwithstanding, the feast was completed and the entertainment well underway before he had a chance to implement his plan. Mary had been with him a good bit of the night, but always in her formal role as the Queen. Even her commitment to Bash's political advancement wavered in the face of Sir Roland's droning discourse on grape growing, however. Mary abandoned Bash the first opportunity she could after that lord had engaged them, giving him a sympathetic smile but otherwise showing no sign of remorse at her treachery in leaving him to suffer the boring conversation. Bash couldn't really blame her, though. He was only saved himself by Alec alerting him that he was needed, and Lola bravely stepping in to take Bash's place as Sir Roland's sounding board.

Looking around the room, Bash saw that most of those in attendance were now merrily watching a juggling show. He spied Mary on one end of the crowd in the front, laughing happily along with the rest. Working his way around the crowd, Bash quietly slipped up behind her. He leaned forward, the wonderful smell of her hair filling his senses, and murmured into her ear, "Your ladies in waiting are quite ingenious, getting Catherine to pay for all this."

Mary jumped a little, not having heard him come up behind her. They were so close that the folds of her gown pressed against him a little, but Mary didn't move away. Instead, she half turned toward Bash. A shock of pleasure ran through him as he looked down into her face, so close to his own. She was attempting to glare at him, but her stern expression didn't reach her twinkling eyes. "And our regent is quite sneaky. I suppose I am blessed to have such miscreants on my side."

"Miscreants now is it? What a harsh word," Bash teased.

"Well it is very appropriate," Mary said archly.

"You could do worse," Bash said nodding toward the juggler who was currently careening around the ballroom balancing a stack of half filled wine goblets. "That juggler for instance is one of Catherine's pets."

Mary looked surprised and turned toward him more fully. "The _juggler? _ That seems an unusual choice of ally even for Catherine."

"She's quite the patroness of the arts," Bash said. "It makes the trick your ladies pulled even more impressive. Just think, Catherine's money and Catherine's allies all put to work celebrating us." He smiled down at her, a pair of crystal blue eyes locking onto a pair beautiful brown ones. Gazing at her, Bash felt a stillness come over him. It was as if the rest of the world faded away. Mary seemed just as entranced. Neither of them was paying attention to the juggling show anymore.

"Celebrating you," Mary corrected softly. Her unwavering gaze seemed to invite him in, and Bash started to lean in to kiss those soft lips.

Suddenly wine goblets crashed down on them both, causing them to jump back as a collective gasp filled the ballroom. Bash shook himself off and glared at the juggler, who was attempting to apologize profusely for his clumsiness in dropping his props on them. The regent shared a look with the young queen. Neither of them was buying the performer's excuses.

"A banquet is no place for a clumsy juggler. Be gone," Bash ordered the man out of the room. All eyes were on them, titters and whispers passing through the hall.

"Musicians, let's have some dancing music," Mary ordered, clapping her hands. The musicians readily complied, and across the hall young suitors and would be lovers took the opportunity to put their hands on their chosen lady in dance. The focuse shifted away from the Regent and the Scottish Queen. Mary looked down at her dress and sighed. "I suppose I'll have to change."

"Absolutely," Bash growled, still glaring after the departed juggler. "For all we know Catherine had him poison that wine."

"You don't really think that," Mary asked, horrified.

"No," Bash sighed. "But it's better to be safe than sorry. Come, I'll escort you to your rooms." He looked around for Greer, who was close by, and gestured her over. "Greer, Queen Mary needs some assistance changing, and sadly I don't think I'm qualified to help."

"Certainly not," Greer said, "Though it might be amusing to see you try to tackle a corset."

Bash grinned wickedly. "I might like to try," he replied, taking her words an entirely different way than she meant them.

Mary blushed – though she didn't look too upset. "I'm afraid you'll have to wait outside my dear Regent, – that is, if you insist on escorting me to my chambers for my safety."

"I absolutely do," he replied, gesturing for one of her guards to join them.

Once back at Mary's suite, Bash left the guard outside the door and then took up a station in the anteroom while Greer and Mary retired to her inner chamber. The thought of Mary on the other side of the door was tantalizing. Memories of a certain cold, wet night at an inn far from the castle teased him. In his mind's eye he saw Mary's beautiful delicate form finally released from the rigid confines of court costume, covered only by a mostly sheer shift. The thought that a similar sight was right on the other side of the door was more tormenting than he expected, and Bash let out a groan as he shrugged off his own sopping doublet.

Greer chose that moment to reappear. "Well, that doesn't sound good." The lady raised a knowing eyebrow, and Bash could tell that she found the situation funny. Luckily at that moment a servant arrived with the change of doublet and shirt Bash had requested. Glancing at the servant, Greer finished, "Lady Mary is just changing her jewelry to match the new dress. She bid me return to your celebration. She'll be out soon." Greer curtsied and took her leave.

As she left, Bash shook his head, and then glancing back at the closed door to the inner chamber, turned and stripped off his shirt, grabbing the fresh one and quickly pulling it over his head. He heard the inner door open just as he was dropping the white linen into place on his back.

"Mary! Greer said you'd be another few minutes." Bash wondered just when she had looked through the door. Judging by the slight flush on Mary's cheeks, he suspected he had unwittingly exacted a tiny bit of retribution from her for the torture he was in every time he thought of that night in the inn.

Bash tugged his new doublet on over the shirt, buttoning it hastily as he tried to bring order to his unruly thoughts. He quickly smoothed the jacket into place and then looked at her, spreading his hands to his sides as if to as for her inspection. As she walked over to him, Mary had a look in her eyes that made Bash's heart skip a beat. To his shock his young queen reached for one of the buttons on his doublet. His heart seized for a moment and then he realized that he had missed one. Mary buttoned it for him, letting her hands rest on his chest when she was done.

"There," she said looking up at Bash from oh so close, a husky quality in her voice that he wasn't used to hearing. "You can't return to your celebration looking half put together. They'll think the worst of us."

Bash placed his hand over hers on his chest, and inclined his head down toward her. "Just think if it was justified," he murmured, the old charmer coming out in him. The torchlight danced in the beautiful dark orbs staring up into his own, and Bash felt it again, that wonderful crackling energy between two people, just before a kiss as Mary leaned in . . .

But instead of tasting her sweet kiss again, Bash felt Mary's lips brush across his cheek, and then she stepped back, not looking at him. Even the half of her face he could see, though, showed her struggling to regain her composure. When she did turn to look at him again, the passion was gone, and her mask of control had dropped back into place.

"We should return. After all, the party is in your honor," Mary said.

Bash sighed inwardly again. Outwardly, he slipped on the role of flirtatious charmer like an old familiar cloak. "We both know nobody is really trying to honor me. Its just the result of your ladies' rather cunning forgery. How about a starlit stroll instead?"

The young Scot did laugh at him then, and took his arm, leading him out to where the guard was waiting. "I was wondering where that flirtatious Bash went. It's good to see you back. Now perhaps you should turn that charm on some of those waffling noblemen and ladies, to win them over to your side."

"I am at your command, my lady. If charming is what you wish, charm is what you shall have." Bash's outward gallantry masked the disappointment in his heart at how their interlude had ended. He didn't think Mary was doing it on purpose, but she was driving him mad with frustrated desire. When they were along it seemed that they kept coming right up to the edge of a cliff, and each time Bash saw that look in her eyes and for one blissful moment thought that this time she would let herself fall again, and each time she pulled back, unwilling to make the leap of love. She was so close and yet so far. It was pure torture.

**Author's Notes: So this was both to show Bash's frustration with Mary's reluctance to commit her heart instead of just her hand and her crown – and, frankly, because I felt like I needed a few juicy MASH moments! I know I know the "changing clothes" thing isn't terribly original but I decided to indulge myself with a little bit of fluff this time.**

**Thanks for all the reviews – it really helped me keep going, especially through that writers block I ran into a little earlier! **


End file.
